The Devil You Know Interlude
by Mlee.Write
Summary: This is the M-rated version of chapter 22 of the Devil You Know. You have to read chapters 1-21 of that story before this will make any sense.


Title: The Devil You Know Interlude

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not making a profit.

Summary: This is not a separate story, but rather the M rated version of chapter twenty-two of The Devil You Know. You have to read the first twenty-one chapters of that story for this to make sense.

**VERY IMPORTANT A/N: I struggled with how to write chapter twenty-two of The Devil You Know while keeping the story rated T, and I couldn't do it. I wrote it as I felt it should be written, and this is it, the full-blown, M rated chapter. **

**I edited this down to a T version, and that's posted in the original story. This is the interlude, the full sexytimes version of events for those of you who want to read it. **

**Read either version, and please review. You guys are great and you keep me writing!**

XXII.

Jane's mouth goes dry at the first sight of soft white skin. Contrary to what others may believe he has always looked at Teresa as a woman, not just a cop or his boss or his friend. He's never been blind to her strength, wrapped in ermine-soft femininity, or her beauty. She is a woman of contrasts: ferocity balanced by pixie-like delicacy.

Seeing her bare though, completely stripped down, makes him realize that he's never truly seen Teresa-the-woman, not really. It's not just an "oh, so that's what you look like naked" moment either. Her breasts are surprisingly full, tipped by rose petal nipples that his lips and fingers ache for. The delicate sweep of her waist and flare of small hips, her slender legs, the mink-brown thatch of hair the hides her sex… Tendrils of long brown hair, softly curled, fall over her shoulders to skim her breasts. She is ethereal, elfin…He is breathless.

It is as though he was a tightly-knotted bow and someone has just tugged on the end of the ribbon. He has come undone.

His fingers tremble as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, tosses the garment on top hers. He stands and undoes his pants clumsily, his eyes never leaving her body, her face. She has a knowing little smile, wicked and joyful. Her cheeks are pink.

She studies his nakedness with the same frank eye that he used to study her. Her cheeks flush a deeper blush. She reaches out for him, holds her hand to him.

He takes it and steps into the tub with her, the water scalding his feet.

He sits down, a little awkwardly. Fortunately Teresa's apartment has come equipped with a surprisingly large bathtub, or this wouldn't work.

She bends and switches off the faucet, her long hair brushing the surface of the water. She turns around, presents him with a view of her heart-shaped backside, and carefully settles down into his lap.

She leans back against his chest with a sigh, her head resting the cradle of his neck. Her legs stretch out along his and she rubs one foot against his shin. Her legs are smooth and pale, a counterpoint to the dusting of blond hair that cover his. He is fascinated by the sweet little arch of her foot.

He has a raging erection, had one since she started stripping, and the feel of her soft backside pressed into him is maddening. He knows it's obvious to her, but she's ignoring it, and he's afraid to move.

Her fingers entwine with his, their hands resting on the edge of the tub.

She hums in contentment, letting her head loll.

He breathes in the scent of her hair, and for a moment he struggles with what to do. His body is screaming for sex, aching for it, but his mind is firing off on all cylinders, presenting him with every reason intimacy is a bad idea.

He is damaged. He is a liar, a fraud, a vainglorious cheat. He will taint her. She will hurt him and he can't suffer another blow in his life. He will disappoint her. She will leave. She will die. It's not real. It can't be real. It's too good to be real.

He squeezes his eyes closed and breathes in the humid air.

For a moment, focused only on the feel of her naked and wet against him, he is the old Jane again, the one before Angela, the lothario. What would Old Jane do, presented with such a wonderful circumstance? Old Jane who had not been tampered with by love? He would seduce her of course, thoroughly.

Teresa deserves to be properly seduced, he thinks, and without willing them to, his hands move to cup her breasts. She sighs and arches into his touch, her foot sliding along the inside of his leg.

She arches her neck up to look at him with dark eyes. "Mmm. Patrick," she says.

He is lost.

XXX

Jane's hands are large and warm against her breasts, massaging them gently, fingers circling her skin while never once brushing her nipples. She is tight and puckered there, practically begging to be touched, but he avoids them with the skill of a torturer.

His lips find her neck, kissing her softly beneath her ear, then biting down where her neck and shoulder meet. His tongue is hot against her flesh, promising wicked kisses elsewhere. He sucks her earlobe into his mouth.

She moans and squirms against him, feels his arousal twitch against her backside. His right hand falls from her breast to between her thighs, slipping into the warm water and parting her with a ghostly light touch.

This isn't like before, where he clearly sought to get her off, this time he barely traces her lips with his fingertips, so feather-light and teasing. She squirms against him, straining for more pressure, more depth, but every time she surges her hips toward him he pulls his fingers back just a bit.

"Patience," he whispers hotly against her ear.

"I've been waiting eight years," she pants.

He chuckles, dark and rich like chocolate, and moves his hand, stroking her thigh absently.

"Fine," she whispers hoarsely, slides her hand behind her back at an awkward angle, and grasps him firmly. She squeezes and feels his entire body go taught beneath her, every muscle corded and tight.

"Jesus," he hisses.

She strokes him, smiling wickedly. He angles his head down over hers and kisses her wetly, urgently, all thrusting tongues and nipping teeth.

"Upstairs," he says raggedly.

She stands up on shaky legs, dripping bathwater everywhere. She reaches for one of the plush white towels and wraps it around herself, hands him the other one. He stands and dries off quickly, then sinks to his knees on the bathmat before her. He dries her gently, stroking her with the softness of the towel, enough pressure to be excruciating but not enough to find release.

She whimpers like a wounded animal.

Jane's eyes are dark blue and fathomless, full of sexual intent. He grins at her, that naughty Jane grin, and he lifts her right leg, placing her foot on the edge of the tub.

Exposed to him now, she shivers, and he leans forward, holding her hips in large hands, and drinks the water from the skin of her thighs. Her head falls back and she takes sobbing little breaths, then swallows a scream when he runs his tongue along her sex, the rough velvet touch too much and not enough all at once.

His mouth is magic, fluttering, teasing, worshipping her. She is so close already that her climax bears down on her with manic need. He slips two fingers into her, the slow aching sensation of being filled burning her to the base of her spine. Jane sucks her between his lips just so, and then she is shattering, breaking apart in frantic, glorious spasms.

Her throat feels raw from the needy, animal sounds she makes and her legs are trembling. She wants to say something to him like "Oh God" or "Thank you" or "I love you," but all that comes out is a tattered "Hmmmmnnnhh…"

She braces her hands on his shoulders, moves to lower herself on his lap.

"Not here," he says, urgently grasping her hips. His grip is bruising. "Not on the floor."

He stands up and she wraps her arms around his neck. He lifts her and she entwines her legs around his waist, kissing him the way she's wanted to for weeks. Lazy, sexual, languid kisses. He groans, cupping her bottom, and moves on unsteady legs out of the bathroom.

She sucks on his neck, his earlobe, his jaw as he carries her up to her room. She's amazed they make without falling, tangled as they are, but then Jane is determined.

He drops her to bed, and as she bounces slightly on the mattress, he covers her body with his.

"I'm on the pill," she mutters, the tip of his erection just barely pressing into her.

"I know," he says, lips skimming hers. He reaches down and grasps her thighs, angling her hips up toward him. He wraps one leg around his waist. "I need you Teresa," he says raggedly, and then thrusts into her, sure and true.

That first electric moment of him filling her makes her body shudder. It's somewhere in a hazy place between pleasure and pain, too intense to be purely good. She bites her lip and moans. He kisses her and thrusts in again, finding a steady rhythm, his fingers flexing roughly on her hip. One of his arms is propped up beside her head, and she grasps his wrist for something to hold.

His kisses are getting sloppy, distracted. The room is filled with the wet, heated sounds of sex. He is too slow, too precise. She is coming apart, but not fast enough, not hard enough.

She digs her nails into his wrist. "Please, Jane," she begs. "Oh, God, fuck me."

He makes a little animal cry and drops her head to the bend of her neck, slamming into her roughly now, manically, no longer holding back. She can feel his urgency and the hot, sharp ecstasy he's chasing. It's so much more than physical want; it's a desire that's been built up in him so long, a need gone too long unfulfilled, that he's gloriously brutal in finding it.

She comes in seconds, a keening wail escaping from her throat. Her hips roll up against him, again and again, in a reflexively search for more.

"Teresa, Teresa," he chants, breathless, his body shuddering above hers, then going slack.

He collapses on top of her, and she welcomes the sweaty weight. She runs her hands down his back, over his shoulders. She feels an obsessive need to touch him. She is light headed and bone tired and nearly delirious. She's dangerously near tears.

Jane is warm against her body, slumberous. The room is filled with the sound of quiet, panting breaths.

"Are you okay?" she whispers.

She feels him shudder against her and for a horrible moment she thinks he's sobbing. He rolls off of her, his laughter filling the room. He pulls her onto his chest, then tugs the bed sheets over them.

"Am I okay?" he asks, grinning crookedly. "I'm going to need twenty minutes, and then we're doing that again."

Full of joy, she kisses him.


End file.
